


Though There'll Be Rain and Darkness Too

by Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - World War II, American GIs in Britain, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Bars and Pubs, Chapter Titles Are All 1940s Song Lyrics, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear of Death, Gwen is Phasma, I Did So Much Research It Was Stupid, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, London, Loss of Parent(s), Mental Anguish, Musical References, POV Rey (Star Wars), Phasma is a Good Friend (Star Wars), Slow Romance, Tea, Wartime, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium/pseuds/Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium
Summary: Rey Johnson is a young British woman living in East Anglia in 1943.Ben Solo is an American lieutenant piloting B-17s.Is it wrong to be happy when the world is burning?A SW:ST AU.
Relationships: Finn/Jannah (Star Wars), Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 111
Kudos: 48





	1. ‘Twould been better for us had we never, in this wide wicked world, ever met

_East Anglia, October 1943_

The _Red Lion_ never changed. It had been exactly the same for Rey’s entire life. Her mother’s and grandmother’s too, from what she’d been told. Mad King George could’ve dropped round for a nip during the old rebellion and found it just the same. Though were he to wander in tonight, no doubt he’d be appalled by the clientele.

“Bloody Yanks act like they own the place,” Gwen cursed savagely, carefully placing a triangle of dripping glasses on the scarred tabletop. “I swear, they form a perimeter around the bar as if they have to defend it to the last man.”

Jannah drained just enough of her beer to keep the glass from overflowing onto her lap. “They want you to have to squeeze your way between them, is all.”

“Not as stupid as they look, then? Don’t think I believe that.” She glared daggers at a pair of soldiers stumbling by arm-in-arm, tugging her chair closer to the table.

“I dunno, some of them look alright,” Jannah objected, returning a smile from the opposite side of the room. Though how well she could see through the haze of cigarette smoke was anyone’s guess.

“That’s because you’re dainty, you and little Rey here. If you found yourself with a bird’s eye view, your opinion might change. From up here, the entire lot of them are thoroughly unimpressive.” Gwen towered over the entire village. She’d taken quite a bit of grief about it when they were at school, until discovering she was just as capable of throwing a punch as any boy her size. The teasing didn’t stop but from then on, it was less frequent and offered from a safer distance.

“If all we’re gonna talk about is the Yanks, I should run along home to my thimble, tiny little me,” Rey joked, reaching for her own glass. The shapeless green wrapover dresses they were wearing wouldn’t make a living soul feel dainty. “How’s your dad getting on, Jannah?”

The other woman’s face pinched in concern. “He swears he’s on the mend.” She didn’t sound persuaded. Jannah’s father had a small import business specializing in the sorts of things most difficult to get with a war raging. Not that anyone had money to buy non-essentials these days. As his business declined, so had his health.

A cluster of carousers struck up a piercing chorus of “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition!” The singing, clapping, and rhythmic pounding on the bar made it difficult to talk for several minutes. “How are your people?” Jannah called to Gwen, once the din started to subside. Gwen had extended family down in West Sussex, not far from Brighton. She hadn’t been able to visit in ages but exchanged letters with a cousin when she could.

They never heard how Gwen’s people were, though, because a dark-haired airman approached the table. There were no extra chairs in the packed pub so he crouched down, folded arms keeping his face clear of the sticky surface. He gave them a dazzling smile. “Good evening, ladies. I hope you won’t think I’m too forward in introducing myself. I’m Lieutenant Poe Dameron of the great state of Florida, in the good ole U.S. of A. How are you doing this fine autumn evening?”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” Gwen scoffed, hoisting her glass. “Are you trying to chat us up or sell us one of those famous American insurance policies?”

Lieutenant Dameron held up his hands in a good-natured gesture of surrender. “Truthfully, I’m here to ask a favor of this lovely English rose.” He nodded toward Rey. This was exactly why she hardly ever came out. The Yanks were shameless. She couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed anymore. It was just exhausting to keep running them off.

“Flattered, I’m sure, Lieutenant—” she began primly, using the _proper_ pronunciation of the word, but he interrupted. Typical.

“Before you go any further, hear me out, I beg you. I’m but a humble servant of Uncle Sam, thousands of miles from home. I’m out tonight at this charming establishment with my crewmates, just trying to forget how sad and lonely we all are.” He fixed Rey with a look of absolute sincerity, while Gwen and Jannah rolled their eyes. “But I’ve got a problem, ma’am. See, my pilot came out with us tonight. He’s a good guy but sort of a bookworm, you know? He almost never leaves barracks. I feel responsible for ensuring he enjoys himself, so he comes out again. If my pilot is happy, my odds of surviving go way up, you understand? And here’s the thing—” he leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “—he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you all night. If you were to find it in the goodness of your heart to come say hello, you could quite literally be saving my life.”

“Dear Lord,” Gwen breathed, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. “Not as brazen as the chap last month, the one who said spending an evening with Jannah was all he wanted before he died, but close.”

Dameron waited patiently, the barest hint of mischief playing on the corners of his mouth. Rey looked at the other women, to commiserate _again_ on the absolute cheek of Americans. In the bar mirror hanging opposite, she could see the table the lieutenant had left behind. Two men were sitting there, the tables on either side of them crowded with drinking GIs. The younger man at Dameron’s table was laughing uproariously with the men to his right. The older one sat with his back pressed against the pub wall, stone faced and silent, staring into his lap. He looked wretched. Utterly alone.

Over four grinding years of war, Rey had born witness to more suffering than she could catalog. Thinking about it was beyond what a human being could bear. The only way to keep going was to push it down, ignore it as best you could or it would bury you. The sorrows of the world were too vast. There was nothing one person could do to fix it.

She and every other girl she knew had turned away dozens, maybe hundreds, of advances like Dameron’s—some friendly, some crude. But the airman at the table wasn’t accosting her or her friends and somehow, she knew he hadn’t put the lieutenant up to it, either. Looking into the mirror, seeing her own emptiness reflected back, moved her. She couldn’t help everyone but she could offer kindness to one soul in exile.

“I won’t go by myself,” she announced. “I’ll only go if my friends want to come, too.” Gwen choked a little on her beer. Jannah’s brows arched in surprise, though she didn’t look unhappy. In all the years they’d known each other, Rey had never done anything like this. She felt cowardly roping them into her impulsive decision.

“Three gorgeous women instead of one? Truly, the heavens are smiling on me.” Dameron took their silence for agreement and stood up quickly, instructing, “Best bring your chairs, ladies. It’s a full house tonight.”

“Rey, what in the world—?” Gwen hissed but Jannah hooked an arm on her own seat and was halfway across the pub before it occurred to Rey she’d been glancing in that direction for some time.

Sure enough, by the time Rey got to the airmen’s table, Jannah was shaking hands with the handsome, laughing young man she’d seen in the mirror. She heard him begin to introduce himself—“Very pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Finn—” but then a soldier deep in his cups crashed into Rey trying to exit his own table.

She might have ended up on the floor had a large hand not wrapped around her upper arm, steadying her. “Are you alright, ma’am?” Before she could even answer, her rescuer barked, “Corporal! Apologize to the lady immediately.”

“It was an accident,” she protested. “There’s no need for that.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I disagree.” He’d let go of her arm immediately but the space was so crowded they were standing closer together than was appropriate. The corporal in question lingered uncertainly, swaying enough that Rey doubted he’d be upright much longer.

“Please—?”

“Lieutenant Benjamin Solo, ma’am.”

“Please, Lieutenant Solo, I’m certain the corporal meant no harm. I’d like to forget the entire business and sit.” He gave the drunk soldier an icy glare but stepped aside so Rey could reach the table.

Their host ran to the bar to get more drinks. Jannah and her new acquaintance were already deep in conversation. “So you’re all lieutenants, then?” she asked as Rey finally settled in.

“Dameron and I are 2nd lieutenants. Solo here’s a 1st lieutenant. He’s the pilot of our crew.” The man under discussion said nothing. He sat uneasily next to Rey, keeping his focus on the collection of empties at the center of the table.

“What’s your job?” Jannah wondered.

“I’m the bombardier.”

“Only the most important guy on the plane,” Dameron said convivially, distributing fresh drinks then slapping Finn on the back. “Without him, there’d be no reason for the rest of us to be there. Come to think of it, maybe we oughta leave you behind next time. They’d call us back for sure.” It was a well-practiced line. He beamed at Gwen but she gave him nothing in return. He wasn’t discouraged.

“Are you all stationed at Fort Holdo?” Rey asked Lieutenant Solo, who looked startled to be addressed. He gave a curt nod.

“Yes, ma’am, the Mighty Eighth, greatest division in the United States Army Air Forces,” Poe crowed.

Gwen snorted audibly. “So we’re constantly informed.” If the British were famous for being reserved, Americans were equally renowned for their braggadocio.

“Do you fly B-17s or B-24s?” Rey asked. “I understand there’s some debate amongst the men as to which is the better aircraft.”

Three sets of eyes locked on her. “B-17s are the best,” the young man she thought was named Finn responded definitively.

“Unquestionably,” Dameron agreed. “They don’t call it a Flying Fortress for nothing.”

Jannah winked. “Seems you’ve hit a nerve.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m genuinely curious.”

“You interested in flying, ma’am?” Lieutenant Solo asked. His voice was very deep.

“I am, actually. I’d hoped to join the ATS and become a mechanic, maybe even a pilot.” She braced herself for scorn but Solo only looked curious.

It was Dameron who laughed. “They let girls fly over here? If that don’t beat all.”

Gwen huffed loudly, reaching for another pint. At the very least, she was getting free drinks out of this fiasco. “The women in the ATS are members of the British military, lieutenant. They wear khaki and everything. They drive, weld, work on anti-aircraft guns and yes, even fly airplanes.”

“Not in combat, though?” Poe demanded, incredulous.

“No, not in combat,” Rey conceded. “I believe they move the planes around to the various airfields as they’re needed. But still.”

“What’s the name of your airplane?” Jannah asked Finn. “Is it some saucy pun?”

He groaned. “Ask our pilot. He chose it.”

They all looked at Solo, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The pilot just makes suggestions. The crew votes on the name. And in point of fact, you all shot down my first choice.”

“Because it was terrible!” Poe jeered. “Finn, tell them I’m right. Tell them how terrible it was.”

“I can’t honestly remember what it was,” Finn confessed. “But it was…unusual.”

When Solo didn’t respond, Rey prodded gently, “You can’t leave us wondering, lieutenant.”

He reddened. “It was the _Grimtaash_ ,” he admitted. Poe looked eagerly around the table as if to ask, _see what I mean?_

“Well, it’s not as audacious as the _Heavenly Body_ or the _Booby Trap_ ,” Gwen reflected, theatrically serious. “And it lacks the poetry of a _Honey Bunny_ or a _Fertile Myrtle_. Does it at least have a double meaning?”

“I think it’s perfect,” Rey pronounced. “It’s from mythology, correct? It’s a sort of protective spirit.”

Solo swallowed. “You’re clearly better read than my crew, ma’am.”

“It’s Rey. Just Rey. No need to call me ma’am. You make me feel a hundred years old every time you do.”

“Are we ever going to find out the _actual_ name of the plane?” Gwen was clearly aggravated she even cared enough to ask.

Poe drained the last of his beer. “We finally compromised on the _Fighting Force_. Nice and boring. Solo wouldn’t even let us paint a pretty girl on the nose.”

The pilot ignored Dameron completely. “Why didn’t you join the ATS?” he asked Rey.

“Remind me what the ATS is again?” Finn asked anyone who cared to answer.

“Auxiliary Territorial Service,” Gwen snapped as Poe helpfully clarified, “Girl troops.” Rey wondered if she’d made a mistake joining Yanks for drinks. Another few minutes of this and her friend was going to start swinging.

“So what are you all part of?” Finn wondered, gesturing to their matching uniforms.

“You boys haven’t been in-country very long, have you?” Jannah observed. “We’re in the WVS. Women’s Voluntary Services.”

Lieutenant Solo was still looking at Rey, waiting for the chatter to end. “You didn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you join the ATS if you wanted to?”

She wasn’t revealing anything personal to a total stranger, least of all an American flyboy. “I couldn’t be spared.”

“What the difference between the two? What do you do?” Finn asked.

Jannah waved her empty glass in front of Poe, who dutifully trotted to the bar. “Anything that’s needed. During the Blitz, we helped organize air raids shelters and enforce the black out. There’s over a million of us now. We’re broken up into regions around the country and we do pretty much everything. Feed and clothe people, settle refugees, collect materials for the war effort. You name it, we’ve done it.”

“For no pay,” Gwen noted. “And we have to provide our own ghastly uniforms in the bargain.”

“Sounds like a raw deal.” Finn looked at Solo. “We may not have wanted to leave home but at least we’re getting paid. And they give us clothes and food.”

“If you can call it food,” Poe groused, handing Jannah a full glass that sloshed onto the tabletop, spilling on Rey’s skirt.

The three women went quiet and Solo gave Poe a sharp look. “Sorry,” he apologized. “That was a stupid thing to say. I know it’s been tough here.” The Yanks were always going on about how awful the food was in Britain, giving no thought at all to the years of rationing and deprivation its people had already endured, with no end in sight. Everyone knew American servicemen had access to far better—and far more—food on their bases than anyone in the country had at home.

“Where are you from, Lieutenant?” Rey asked to break the awkward silence. “Lieutenant Dameron said he hailed from…remind me again?”

“Florida.”

“Where’s that?” Jannah asked.

“Bottom right corner,” Poe explained. “It’s the one that sticks out into the ocean, not unlike—”

“Dameron,” Solo warned.

“Italy,” the other man finished. “I was gonna say Italy.”

Finn chuckled. “Sure you were.”

“What’s it like there?” Rey questioned.

“About as different from here as you could possibly imagine. Hot and humid all year long. Palm trees and blue skies and an ocean you can swim in without freezing to death.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jannah sighed. “Are you from Florida, too, Finn?”

“Nah, I’m from Ohio. On the Great Lakes. Top side of the country. Solo’s from my neck of the woods.”

“That’s right, this started when I asked where you were from. You never got a chance to answer,” Rey remembered.

“I’m from Indiana, originally. But I was in Chicago when the war started. Up on Lake Michigan, like Finn said.”

“Isn’t that the city with all the gangsters?” Gwen asked.

“Not as many as they used to have, now that Prohibition’s over.”

“Why on earth would anyone ever ban drinking?” Jannah laughed. “I always wondered.”

“Well, to be fair, our booze is quite a bit stronger than yours. No offense but I can hardly tell the difference between your beer and your tea. If our booze was mostly water, they might not have bothered to ban it.” Poe guffawed at his own wit.

“Was Chicago the city that burned in an enormous fire?” Rey asked, trying to remember something she’d read.

“Yes. My grandmother lived through it. She was a child at the time.”

“There’s a song, isn’t there? Something about a…a cow? I can’t remember the details.”

Solo gave a small smile. “They say it started in a cowshed. A lantern tipped into straw bedding.” He held up a finger to Dameron, whose mouth was already open for singing. “Don’t.”

“What were you doing in Chicago? Before the war?”

His expression darkened. “I was studying to be an architect. Took me a few years to save enough for college. Looks like it won’t happen now.”

“Don’t lose hope,” she encouraged. It came out in a near-whisper, not meant for general consumption. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—she had very little hope of her own left to lose—but something in his face was so broken. It hurt to look at.

The mood around the table changed subtly, clouds sliding past the sun. “We’ve already been away from home for over a year,” Finn told them. “Training stateside before we shipped for England. Doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere soon.”

“And when we do,” Poe added, the calmest tone he had used since they met, “we all know where we’re going.” The Americans had spent nearly two years massing personnel and equipment along the east coast in preparation for a massive invasion of the continent. It was only a matter of when.

“I should get home. My dad will be waiting up. He hasn’t been well,” Jannah explained to the men.

“We’ll all go,” Gwen agreed, staring meaningfully at Rey. “Early call tomorrow.”

“But we’re just getting to know each other,” Dameron protested. “Are you volunteering or something?”

“Every other Wednesday, Gwendoline and I take the early train down to London. We provide support services at one of the Red Cross clubs.”

“Which one?” Lieutenant Solo asked.

“Rainbow Corner in Piccadilly Circus. Have you been?”

Dameron answered as though the question were directed at him. “Are you kidding? That’s the best place in England. Pool tables, pinball, juke boxes. I got my hair cut there last month. A little slice of home in the heart of London.”

“I haven’t made it to London yet,” Solo acknowledged. “I should go.”

“You should,” she agreed. “You won’t be seeing it at its best, I’m afraid. But it’s still a magnificent city.”

“What do you do at Rainbow Corner?” he asked. He seemed to have forgotten anyone else was at the table.

“Anything they need us to do. I’ve darned socks and sewed insignia on uniforms, had letters dictated to me by men who weren’t confident of their writing abilities. Sometimes I staff the information desk. Once, I accompanied a singer on the piano when the real musician got stuck on the Tube.”

Solo huffed out a laugh. “You play the piano?”

“Very badly,” she clarified. “As about two hundred of your compatriots can attest. Fortunately, it only took one song for him to arrive.” Swallowing the last of her drink she added, “Irving Berlin’s in town. There’s a rumor he might stop by.”

Gwen pointedly cleared her throat. “Yes, we’d best get home and get our beauty sleep. Wouldn’t want to look peaky for Mr. Berlin.”

Jannah and Finn were speaking, heads together. Rey thought she heard mention of _next week_ , and wondered if Jannah was making plans to meet the airman again. Maybe this hadn’t been a total disaster, after all. She stood, brushing at the dark stain on her spoiled dress. “Thank you for the invitation,” she called over to Poe, only to see him chasing Gwen to the coat pegs.

She turned back to find Lieutenant Solo extending a hand. “Thank you for putting up with our nonsense. It was nice to have an actual conversation for once.”

“Good luck in architecture school. I expect to read about your buildings in the press someday.” She felt foolish thinking about it later, making her way home in the pitch dark with her friends. But what else ought she have said?

_Strange to have met you, in this place you were never supposed to be._

_Hope you don’t die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_I’m Thinking Tonight of My Blue Eyes_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9ZAbKAbQpE), Bing Crosby (1942)


	2. Never thought my heart could be so 'yearny'

_Southbound train to London, November 1943_

The car was jammed, per usual. Lines into London always were. There were more GIs in East Anglia these days than locals, and they were constantly traveling to and from the capital. Day passes, weekend passes, longer furloughs every few months—Rey often wondered when American soldiers actually worked.

It was nearly an hour’s trip to the city center. She carried a book to read in case she was able to get a seat. It was more difficult to do standing. The train jostled and shuddered along the track. Trying to focus on a still page while the world hurtled by the window could lead to severe nausea, something you did not want while trapped in a hot press of humanity.

She’d taken this route so many times she knew how far along they were by only the length of time between stops. Sometimes she fell asleep sitting and woke up just as they were making final approach to the station, as regularly as if she carried an alarm clock in her pocket.

She and Gwen generally stayed together on London trips but whenever they found an open seat they both agreed it was foolish to pass up. Today was Gwen’s lucky day; she’d gotten a spot as soon as they came through the doors. Rey stood close for the first few stops but as more and more people pressed in, she found herself drifting nearer to the middle of the car, farther from her friend.

The passageway was crowded with heavy-coated bodies, parcels, and duffel bags stuffed to various levels of fullness. Soldiers heading into London often intended to stay overnight or longer. As the train curved around a bend about halfway along the journey, she tried to step sideways but turned her ankle on a stray pack, elbowing someone behind her.

“I’m terribly sor—” she said over her shoulder. “Lieutenant Solo.”

“Ma’am.” The pilot tipped his cap smartly. A fortnight had passed since they met in the _Red Lion_ but he almost looked as if he’d expected to see her.

“Finally making your way into London?”

“I am.” She had the sense he wanted to talk but the crowd around them was making him self-conscious. It was early enough in the morning that few people were speaking; even their subdued interaction was drawing attention.

“Are you on leave?” she wondered.

“Just a day pass.”

“What do you plan to see, then?”

He shook his head lightly. “Not sure, to be honest. One of my crewmates suggested a taxi tour. Another man said that was a waste of time and money, and I ought to just wander around then catch a bus back to the station. Dameron was adamant I should spend my first visit at Rainbow Corner.” He looked a touch nervous to admit it.

“That’s more America than London but I suspect Lieutenant Dameron would see that as all to the good.”

He leaned closer so he could speak more softly. “Please let me apologize if anything he said that night offended you. He’s not a bad guy but he can be…overbearing.”

She waved the suggestion away. “I’ve got thicker skin than that. No worries on my account. Gwendoline’s on this train, by the way. She’s just down the other end. Hard to stay together in the scrum.”

They lapsed into silence, Solo scuffing absently at the ground with the toe of his shoe. It was difficult to think of things to talk about. Each topic that came to mind felt too personal or too silly to discuss in a room full of eavesdropping strangers. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

“What would you recommend?” he asked suddenly, as though the lengthy pause had never happened.

“To see in London? I believe Buckingham Palace is popular with Americans. Westminster Abbey is impressive. St. Paul’s was rather badly damaged in the Blitz, I’m afraid. Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament? I suppose it all depends on what you’re interested in. Just make sure you’re back to the station before sunset. It’s very difficult to find your way around the city in the black out, even if you’re familiar with it. You don’t want to spoil your first visit by getting lost.”

He considered her advice for a moment, then asked, “You’re volunteering today? At Rainbow Corner?”

She nodded. “Every other Wednesday.”

“What’s the main draw there?”

“Has a bit of everything, doesn’t it? It’s open round the clock, every day of the year. There are rec rooms and dining rooms. The snack bar in the basement is always busy. It serves Coca Cola _and_ hamburgers. I’ve heard the waffles are particularly good.”

He smiled. “What’s your favorite?”

“Oh, no. We don’t eat there.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t done. We aren’t supposed to…to fraternize.” She suddenly felt very aware of all the servicemen standing in close proximity. Her cheeks burned.

He shared her discomfort. “I see.”

She struggled to get the conversation back on track. “There are loads of activities to do. They show films and bring in speakers and musical performers. There’s a dance hall, and an arts and crafts room. You can have your portrait sketched and they’ll mail it home to your family free of charge. If you wanted to take a sightseeing tour, you could book one there. Or they have bicycles to rent. Each one’s named after a different state. You might even be able to get—” she wrinkled her nose in concentration, ”—Indiana?”

“You have a remarkable memory,” he complimented her.

“Make sure you put a pin on the map. Every serviceman who visits is invited to pin a tiny red flag on his hometown.”

“Do you have a preferred station? Or one you hate?”

“I don’t much care for the ‘Where am I?’ room,” she whispered. At his look of confusion, she explained, “It’s where the MPs lay out the soldiers that have spent too much time pub-crawling. Directly adjacent to First Aid and showers.”

Solo bowed his head. “I’m mortified on behalf of my entire nation.”

“No one’s ever been ugly or violent to me. They’re…sad.” She mouthed the word, not wanting to draw more notice. All these men were heading to the city in search of temporary distraction, a bit of levity in the midst of madness. They didn’t need to hear her relate the story of the boy who sobbed on her lap because his best girl got engaged in his absence. Or the older man who told her earnestly between hiccups how much she reminded him of his daughter.

The train began to slow. “Nearly there,” she said, her brightness only slightly forced. Solo was watching her closely. Her wool coat was stifling. She wouldn’t feel the good of it once she left the confines of the train.

She ought to offer. It was the decent thing to do. So why did it feel so dangerous to do it? She cleared her throat impatiently. Of all the utterly ridiculous things to be a coward about. “If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to go with Gwen and me to Piccadilly. It isn’t far. You’re not obligated to go to Rainbow Corner today, of course, but then at least you’d know where it was. It’s very centrally located so it might help you navigate your way around the city in future.” A logical, dispassionate proposition, to be sure.

“That’s kind of you. I might take you up on that.” They couldn’t seem to look at each other. When she risked a peek sideways, she could see a creeping flush working its way up his throat, above the line of his olive coat.

The station appeared through the windows. The compartment darkened when they passed under the canopy. All the passengers reoriented themselves, collecting belongings and preparing to move as soon as the doors opened. Rey felt the lieutenant behind her. He was as tall as Gwen. She glanced over her shoulder to offer a final word of caution. “The doors will open on both sides, so follow close. Don’t get lost.”

“I won’t,” he murmured, closer to her ear than she expected, and a curious shiver tumbled through her.

The British were well-known for their patience in queueing; disembarking a train was no exception. Everyone waited quietly, no pushing or complaining. There were too many military hats and duffel bags on shoulders for her to catch sight of Gwen in the mob but they’d find each other on the platform. They’d done it many times before.

Outside the train, the cold air bit sharp. Rey beckoned to the airman to follow her to one side, allowing a steady stream of passengers to move by. “Keep a lookout for Gwendoline,” she advised. But the crowd thinned and the train backed out of the station and still they hadn’t spotted her.

“There she is,” Solo nodded. Gwen had gotten out on the opposite side and was staring at them across the chasm of the tracks. She looked thoroughly put out.

Rey waved but the other woman shook her head. She called, “I’ll see you there,” before turning and disappearing into the mass of people filing inside the station.

“How odd,” Rey said apologetically.

“I hope I haven’t caused any trouble?”

“Oh, no. You mustn’t mind Gwen. It isn’t personal, I promise. She prefers to keep her own company generally. She only tolerates me because we’ve known each other since primary school.”

“I can certainly appreciate preferring your own company,” he observed as they crossed the final length of the platform.

There was a rare bit of sunshine today, despite the chill wind. Rey tucked her scarf in more snuggly. “Shall we walk? We could take the Tube but that would mean another crush of people to deal with. It isn’t far and you can learn the city.”

“Lead the way.”

She realized her mistake the moment they set out. They had at least fifteen more minutes of time together, and now they weren’t restricted in their conversation by hordes of captive ears. Lieutenant Solo seemed to have been struck by the same notion.

“Do you live near that pub? The _Red Lion_?”

“Not far from,” she said noncommittally. He was still a stranger, and a foreign soldier to boot.

“Poe and Finn have been asking me to go ever since we arrived. I didn’t want to then. Can’t help but feel I’ve been missing out now.” He gave her a sheepish smile.

“Not on my account, I hope. I hardly ever go anymore. Can’t remember the last time I was there, in fact. Maybe a year?”

“Why don’t you go?”

She looked at him with a tilt of the head that demanded, _surely you can guess?_ But he stared back blankly. He genuinely didn’t know.

“Ever since you Yanks first got off the boat—what, two years ago now?—every pub in East Anglia is full to bursting from the moment they unlock the doors to close of business. I’ve heard stories of pubs actually running out of drinks in a single night. That’s unheard of. And if you’re a woman…” she trailed off with a shrug.

“Have you been accosted?” he asked in disgust.

“Most of the men are fine, if sometimes a little overly familiar. But we all know there’s a certain…perception about local girls.”

“Perception?”

“Lieutenant, you needn’t pretend with me. We’re both adults. I’ve seen things over the past few years no one should ever have to witness. I should hope I could handle bawdy jokes.”

He laughed uncertainly. “Such as?”

“Have you heard about ladies’ undergarments here in Britain? One Yank and they’re off.”

Solo blushed to the roots of his hair. “I hope you don’t think—” he stammered but didn’t seem to know how to finish the statement.

“No, of course not. I never meant to suggest it. I was only answering your question about why I don’t frequent the pub these days. I have no intention of reaching the end of this war with a…a larger family than I began it.”

He swallowed heavily. “Understood.”

“Since we’re speaking of families, what’s yours like?”

Solo shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. “Only my parents are still living. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“Neither do I.”

“You live with your parents?” he prompted.

“With my grandmother. My parents are…gone.” Her throat tightened a little, even now.

“I’m sorry. Was it recent?” Searching her face, he blurted, “Forgive me. You don’t have to say any more.”

“It’s alright. My father was never in the picture. My mother was killed in the early days of the Blitz.” She had a sudden memory, vivid splashes of crimson on endless dunes of grey rubble. The way blurred under her feet.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, then more gently, “Rey?”

She blinked back stubborn tears. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I’m not. None of us are. Nothing about this war is ‘fine’ or ‘alright.’ It’s senseless and brutal and I hate every single thing about it.” He clenched his jaw. “I apologize for speaking out of turn. And for being overly familiar. I shouldn’t be calling you by your first name. I realized after you left that night that I never got your last name.”

“It’s Johnson. Rey Johnson. But I don’t mind you calling me by my first name, truly. I thought you Yanks preferred informality.”

They had to step to one side to allow a shop owner to pass, drawing a cart full of bundled fabrics. He wasn’t supposed to be on the pavement but the street was so thronged with taxis, buses and cycles that he’d be risking his life to chance it. The lieutenant tugged lightly on her coat sleeve, pulling her into a doorway.

“We may prefer informality but that doesn’t mean we disregard basic rules of polite society.” He smirked down at her. “I’ll make you a deal, Miss Johnson. I’ll call you Rey if you stop calling me _left-tenant_. My name is Ben.”

She stuck out a hand. “Very nice to properly meet you, Ben from America.”

He laughed. “Nice to meet you, Rey from England.”

His hand was warm, even through both their gloves. He chewed self-consciously on the inside of his lip, then stared off across the street.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I just said I hated every single thing about this war and thirty seconds later, you made me a liar.”

~~~

Lieutenant Solo— _Ben_ , she reminded herself—decided not to sample the offerings of Rainbow Corner when they reached Piccadilly Circus and found Gwen waiting at the entrance, looking like a thunderhead about to erupt. He thanked Rey politely for her assistance, tipped his cap to her friend with a formal, “Ma’am,” then set off to explore the city on foot.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Gwen demanded, almost before he was out of earshot.

All the lightness in her drained away at the other woman’s tone. Why could nothing in life be good anymore? “What do you mean?”

“You told him what days we come into London and which train we take. You aren’t actually naïve enough to think this meeting was a coincidence?”

“He’s lonely, Gwen. I—”

“They’re all lonely, Rey. All million-and-a-half of them. They want one thing and you know it.”

“He isn’t like that,” she objected. It sounded feeble even as the words left her lips.

Gwen radiated disappointment. “I’ll remind you of it when he ships out and you discover a baby’s on the way.”

“I have no intention of becoming a war bride.”

Her friend shook her head, pitying. “Becoming a war bride and leaving your home and family forever is the _best-case_ scenario. I thought you understood that. What would your grandmother say?”

“Stop treating me like a misbehaving child. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Haven’t you? You’ve had drinks and an unchaperoned outing with a Yank who already looks at you as if you hung the moon. You’ve got to put a stop to this now, before something irrevocable happens. If no other argument moves you, consider your beau’s feelings.”

“He’s not my—” She clenched her fists in frustration. “Enough. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You’re my oldest friend and I appreciate that you’re trying to look after me. But I’m a grown woman. Trust me to make my own decisions.”

Gwen regarded her sadly. “Just be certain they’re good ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Sentimental Journey_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUw125JMVFI), Doris Day (1944)


	3. May your days be merry and bright

_Camp Holdo, East Anglia, December 1943_

The horns were electrifying, piercing the night air even before they passed through the hangar doors. Jannah swayed in time with the music, grabbing Rey’s hand. “I’m so pleased you agreed to come. It’ll be such fun!”

The space was cavernous, filled with red, white, and blue decorations that were festive but decidedly odd for a Christmas party. The center of the room was filled with dancing soldiers and personnel, resembling nothing so much as a dull green heaving sea.

“I love Glenn Miller,” Jannah cried, guiding Rey toward the makeshift bar.

“Everyone in the world loves Glenn Miller,” she teased, scanning for familiar faces. One, in particular.

“Then we all have excellent taste.” Jannah waved excitedly across the dance floor. Finn and Poe were headed in their direction. There was no sign of Ben.

“Good evening, lieutenants,” Jannah said. “You’re both looking very dashing tonight.”

“Merry Christmas, ladies, courtesy of the United States armed forces.” Poe had evidently begun celebrating much earlier. It was going to be a long night.

“We say ‘Happy Christmas’ here in Britain,” Rey corrected lightly.

He shrugged, “Tomato, to-mah-to. May I just comment on the fact that both of you look absolutely gorgeous? Did you come on the old ‘passion wagon?’”

Jannah blanched. Even Finn looked taken aback. “What did you say?”

Dameron had the good grace to look mildly embarrassed. “You know, the trucks they send around to collect local girls for base dances.”

“Who calls them that?” Rey asked. “I’ve always heard them called ‘liberty buses.’”

“No doubt the soldiers felt that name was too boring and rechristened them,” Jannah quipped.

Deciding his best course was evasive maneuvers, Poe changed topics. “Where’s your friend, the tall, angry one?”

Rey felt a twinge of guilt. Not that Gwen ever enjoyed noisy public events like this. But she’d made it quite clear she had no interest in spending an evening watching Rey sabotage her own life. “She wasn’t able to be here.”

“Where’s _your_ friend, the tall, angry one?” Jannah leaned into Finn’s arm and he rewarded her with a sweet smile. Rey felt as if she were intruding on a private moment just standing next to them.

“He should be here,” Finn confirmed. “He wasn’t at all interested until I casually let it slip that you were bringing your friend from the pub. It’s Rey, right?”

“Listen, as much as I love spending all my waking moments thinking about Lieutenant Hard Ass, I would much prefer to be dancing with one of you beautiful girls to celebrate the birth of little baby Jesus. The way God intended.”

“Don’t mind Poe. He and Lieutenant Hard Ass had a bit of a disagreement today. It got pretty heated.”

Poe snatched up a cup abandoned on a nearby table and tossed back its contents without concern. “I mean it’s Christmastime, for Christ’s sake! Can’t he let up for even five minutes? Isn’t everything miserable enough without—” Finn smacked his arm and he looked around in confusion. Ben had emerged from a knot of people on the other side of the table and was coming their way.

Something was wrong. Rey knew it the instant she saw him up close. He didn’t look at all like the person she had led around London. His face was pale and drawn, as if he hadn’t slept in a week. She felt a burning desire to know what the problem was, to ask how she might help. But that was ludicrous. It was none of her business. She barely knew the man.

When he saw her, his eyes softened but his frame stayed rigid with tension. He joined the group silently, nodding at Finn and Jannah but acting as if Poe were part of the furniture.

“Happy Christmas, lieutenant,” she ventured.

“Same to you, Miss Johnson. I’m glad both of you ladies were able to come tonight. They’ve put on quite a spread. You must be hungry.”

“Actually, Finn and I just invited the ladies to dance,” Poe asserted. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight in a hangar full of soldiers, was he? Solo was a full head taller.

“You’re both wrong,” Jannah said cheerfully. “Finn and I are going to find a dark corner, and whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears.” She grabbed his hand and they left for the emptier side of the bay.

“What about it, Rey? Still up for that dance?” A quiet sort of desperation tinged Poe’s voice. Maybe he was trying to prove something to Ben, or maybe he was struggling with the painful emotions the holiday season dredged up even in the best of times. She only knew she felt sorry for him.

“Yes, of course. I’d like that.”

Ben looked stricken. She couldn’t think how to let him know that the dance didn’t mean anything without wounding Poe. “Excuse me,” he snapped and headed for the bar.

~~~

Poe Dameron was an arse who could actually dance. Rey wasn’t very good at the jitterbug or the lindy but his frenetic joy on the floor was enough to pull her through the trickier bits. After three songs, she was winded and disheveled but sincere when she thanked him for an enjoyable time.

She found Ben alone at a table in the back of the room, four empty bottles arrayed in a pin-straight line in front of him. “Hey ho, Father Christmas.” She dragged a rickety chair around so she could sit next to him. “Don’t be angry. I’d like to dance with you, too, if you’ll ask me.”

He took a pull from a fifth bottle. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Alright, we can just talk.”

“Have you eaten? There’s lots of food over there.” He gestured toward the long tables near the bar. “I’m sure it would be okay if you wanted to bring some home.”

She had to hold in a breath to stem the surge of resentment his comment provoked. “I’m sure you mean to be kind. But if you’re actually suggesting that I go stuff buttered rolls into my pockets like some sort of Artful Dodger, well, that’s a tiny bit insulting.”

He squinted in confusion. “Why is it insulting? You’re a guest here. The food is meant for you to eat. If there’s more than enough to go around, what’s the harm in bringing some home to your grandmother?”

She bit her lip to keep from shouting. “We’re on ration cards, Ben, to support the war effort. We’re not beggars, starving in the street.”

“I never said you were,” he shot back. “I only meant that I know how difficult things are for you—”

That was a bridge too far. _Bloody presumptuous Americans._ “You know nothing about me. You know nothing about what life has been like in this country for the past four years. You don’t even really know what it’s like now, because you hardly ever leave this protected bubble. This little slice of America in Britain.” She gestured to the rows-upon-rows of flags decorating the rafters.

He flushed in anger. “Believe me when I tell you I would much rather be in America than Britain right now.” He slammed the bottle down on the table. “And you’re wrong. I do leave this protected bubble. I leave it every few days. I fly out of here with nine other men whose lives I’m responsible for. The youngest one is barely nineteen. He’s from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I’ve never been to Oklahoma but I feel as though I have because I’ve listened to him tell so many god-awful stories about it.”

Ben lurched back in his seat, covering his mouth with the back of a shaking hand. He took several deep breaths in succession, trying to regain control over his temper. Then he stood up, scooping his hat off a nearby chair. “I apologize for upsetting you. It wasn’t my intention. Good night.” He left the hangar before she could say another word.

“You went away and my heart went with yoooou,” the winsome blonde on stage crooned.

Happy Christmas, indeed.

~~~

“Darling, look sharp. Our young man will be here any minute.”

Rey laid the last plate on the dining table and called back to the kitchen, “He’s not ours, Granny. And he may not even be young.”

A short, grey-haired lady with lively eyes came in carrying cutlery, freshly polished. “A woman can dream, can’t she?”

“You’re wicked,” the younger woman said. “Why on earth did you apply for this? Who wants a total stranger in their house on Christmas Day?”

“Tell me what day is more appropriate to welcome a stranger in a strange land into your home?” the older woman countered. “Imagine how keenly these poor lads must be longing for kith and kin. Inviting one to dine is the Christian thing to do.”

“If you say so, Gran.” The grim reality was that they had used every bit of their monthly rations to prepare a holiday meal they could offer a guest without shame. She tried not to resent it, knowing the soldier would not appreciate the sacrifice made on his behalf. And then he’d go back to base and stuff himself, while they went without until the new year.

“Besides, this will give you someone interesting to talk to. You shouldn’t spend every jot of free time with your dusty grandmother. You’re only young once.”

Rey took the silverware from her hands and embraced her. “That’s utter nonsense. You’re my favorite person in the world and you know it.”

The old lady chuckled and patted her cheek. “One does like to be reminded every now and again.”

There was a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” Rey mouthed, thumbing a tiny spot of flour from her grandmother’s sleeve.

Lieutenant Solo stood on the front step, clutching an enormous basket. A bicycle leaned against the wall of the cottage. “What are you doing here?”

He was just as baffled. “This is the address I was given, for a Mrs. Erso. What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Erso is my grandmother,” she exclaimed.

“I…I didn’t know that.”

“Didn’t you?” she countered suspiciously.

“How could I? You don’t even have the same last name.”

The lady in question, impatient with waiting, came to the door to discover the reason for the delay. “Rey, dear, allow our guest into the house. The cold’s seeping in. Happy Christmas, young man.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ben replied, struggling to pass through the door while keeping a grip on his offering. “Happy Christmas to you.”

“Gracious, I’m reminded of Ebenezer Scrooge sending an enormous turkey to the Cratchit family on Christmas morning. Do you know Dickens?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And your favorite?”

He considered the question as he searched for a place to deposit the basket. Not seeing any surface large enough, he carefully lowered it to the sitting room floor. “Probably _A Tale of Two Cities_.”

Mrs. Erso smiled knowingly. “Unrequited love in war-torn Europe. A timely selection.”

Rey lingered in the doorway. “Granny, at least let the poor man take off his coat before you make him rank the Romantic poets.”

“Ah yes, an important debate.” The older lady held out her arms for Ben’s winter gear. She fixed him with a shrewd look. “What’s it to be, Coleridge or Blake?”

Ben hesitated, leaned down a fraction. “Byron,” he said decisively. Mrs. Erso broke into peals of laughter. “Though if I’m being honest, I prefer Walt Whitman.”

“Very good. Very good, indeed. Wave the flag for America. Only right. I like this one,” she told Rey as she passed out of the room, wrangling a dress coat, scarf, hat and gloves.

They immediately began talking past each other.

“Won’t you sit—?”

“Is it alright that I’m—?

“Yes, of course it’s—”

“I could go if—”

“Don’t be absurd,” Rey said firmly. She gestured to a well-worn wingback chair by the small coal burner, clearly the seat of honor. “Sit, please.”

But he didn’t sit. He waited for Mrs. Erso to reappear, which she did within seconds. “We’ve done the thing a bit backwards, haven’t we? Tell us your name, soldier.”

He looked uncertainly at Rey. “Lieutenant Benjamin Solo, ma’am. United States Army Air Force.”

“A flying man, then? I’m Mrs. Erso and this is my granddaughter, Rey. She’s a member of the Women’s Voluntary Services.” She beamed with pride.

“It’s nice to meet you…both,” he replied. “And it’s very kind of you to invite a foreigner into your home on Christmas.”

“Stuff and nonsense. We’re delighted to have you. Let’s get something sorted straight away. If you prefer that we call you lieutenant and be terribly British and formal about the whole affair, we’ll certainly do that. But if you have no objection, I’d like to do your mother the honor of making you feel at home today. What would she call you?”

The answer didn’t come easily. “Ben, ma’am,” he finally managed.

Mrs. Erso winked at him. “Shall it be Ben for today?”

He nodded, eyes glassy with gratitude.

“Now then, dear, what have you brought us in this monstrous parcel?” She beckoned Rey forward and the younger woman knelt to unfastening the wrappings.

“I can’t take any credit for that, ma’am,” he replied, clearing his throat. “That’s a gift from the people of the United States, to thank you for your hospitality to her troops.”

“Her troops are doing me the service of sparing me learning German in my old age,” Mrs. Erso chuckled. “What’s in there, darling?”

“Unimaginable bounty.” Rey shifted packages, reading each label in turn. “Tomato juice, pineapple juice, evaporated milk, canned peas _and_ peaches, sugar, coffee. I think this—” she sniffed a narrow rectangle of butcher’s paper, “—must be bacon. There’s butter, a packet of cornflakes, soap and a wire saucepan cleaner.” She looked up at Ben with undisguised amusement. “Truly something for everyone. Oh, I nearly missed the chocolate bars. They slid down the sides.”

“A Christmas miracle! Right, you must be starving, giant of a man. You sit just there—Rey, darling, you there—and I’ll be back in a tick.”

“Granny, let me,” Rey protested but Mrs. Erso held up a hand.

“You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of serving guests at my own table, would you? Stay and make our new friend welcome. I won’t be a minute.”

Ben held the chair out for her before settling in his designated spot. “You have a lovely home.”

She straightened the cutlery to keep her hand occupied. “Very different from America, I imagine. The film reels are all modern palaces of luxury and convenience. Everyone in tuxedos and feather boas.”

“The reality is less obnoxious. At least I hope it is,” he demurred.

Sounds from the kitchen suggested her grandmother would be back very soon. She screwed up her courage. “I owe you an apology. I behaved like a spoiled child—”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” he interrupted. “I had no business speaking to you like that. You had every right to get angry. It’s no excuse but I wasn’t thinking clearly that night.”

Glancing toward the passageway, she reached out a finger to touch the cuff of his jacket. He looked up in surprise. “I could tell something was bothering you the instant you came in.”

He started to respond but Mrs. Erso called from the kitchen, “Ready or not!”

“I’ll explain later,” he promised.

~~~

Christmas dinner was a success. Ben declined second helpings, claiming the base had provided a larger than normal holiday breakfast. But he praised Mrs. Erso’s cooking so sincerely she believed his lie and was satisfied. Rey knew the truth. She’d heard from troops in London how they were coached before home visits of any kind. _Don’t take too much. They have nothing but they’ll give it anyway. Too proud to admit their poverty._ She was grateful and embarrassed and ashamed of her embarrassment all at once.

When it was time for him to return to Fort Holdo, her grandmother insisted he come another day for tea and conversation. They’d save the coffee just for him, she pledged. Everyone knew Yanks detested tea.

Rey fetched his coat, grabbing her own. “Granny, I’ll just see the lieutenant to the end of the lane.” The old lady was already dozing in the chair by the heater and made no objection, though she did sleepily advise putting on galoshes against the damp.

“I have to admit, I cannot even picture you riding that,” she snickered as Ben collected the bicycle. “However did you manage with that massive basket?”

“Tied it to the fender,” he explained, fishing a length of sturdy cord from his coat pocket.

“Clever.” She kicked a stray rock out of the way. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, I loathe the idea of being beholden to anyone. But it was lovely to see Gran spread butter on her bread without worrying about me going without. Thank you for that.”

“It was never about being beholden to anyone. I need to make sure you understand—about the party, I mean—it just seemed logical to me. There was more food than could be eaten. Why shouldn’t it be put to good use? That was all I meant.”

They started down the road, Ben pushing the cycle between them.

“I know you were trying to be kind. But _you_ have to understand, we were on rations for years before America joined the war. And then suddenly Yanks flood the country, tossing oranges and chewing gum out their truck windows as if they’re nothing. You ship in hamburgers, Coca-Cola, Hershey bars—things we haven’t seen in ages, things we’ve never seen. But all the time complaining, taking it for granted. Or worse, dangling it in front of us. The lure of hairpins and lipstick in exchange for…being friendly.”

“I _never_ —"

“I know. I’m just trying to explain why food is such a sore spot with me. I don’t like accepting charity but I especially don’t like it when I don’t know precisely what’s expected of me in return.”

“I get that now. So let me be clear: I expect nothing from you. Nothing. I liked your grandmother and I’d like to accept her invitation to come back some time. But if you don’t want me in your house, I understand that and I won’t come back.”

“Of course, you should come back. Gran would be outraged if you didn’t.”

“In that case, I intend to bring her a gift when I come, to thank her for inviting me. But it has nothing to do with you and I’m not expecting anything in return. Are we clear?”

She gave him a playful salute. “Crystal.” After a moment, she smirked. “You really didn’t know I lived there?”

“I really didn’t. Cross my heart.” He traced an x on his coat for good measure.

“It’s just that Gwen said something. Ridiculous really. She thought you must have taken that train into London on purpose…to see me.”

The frozen dirt crunched under the tires. “That I did do.”

“What?”

“I was going to London anyway. I just remembered you take the early Wednesday train. And in my defense, it was so packed, I might not have seen you even then.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “You’re saying chance threw us together three times in as many months?”

He smiled but just as quickly, it faded. “I should explain about the dance. I wasn’t myself because I’d just been told something by my CO. Something I was ordered not to share with my men just yet, so it wouldn’t wreck their Christmas.”

The bottom dropped out of Rey’s stomach. “Is it the invasion?” she whispered.

He gave a short shake of the head. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that. With anyone. But I can tell you, strictly confidentially, what I was told that night. Top brass thinks conditions are improving on our bombing runs over the continent. They think we’re ‘safer’ than we used to be. I won’t bore you with the reasons why. The long and short of it is that ‘til now, a crew had to complete twenty-five bombing runs to finish a tour of duty. That’s just been upped to thirty.”

She knew what he wasn’t saying. Flight crews hardly ever made twenty-five runs. They didn’t survive long enough. “How many has your crew finished?”

A muscle jumped under his eye. “Nine.”

_Dear God._

She had no idea what to say. Everything that clawed its way into her brain seemed hopelessly stupid or saccharine. ‘Keep your chin up’ sort of dreck. Then a memory struck her, so forcefully she stopped walking in horror. “You were dealing with the weight of that, sitting there thinking about your crew—about the boy from Oklahoma—and I accused you of being thoughtless and arrogant, living in a protected bubble.” She wanted to cover her face in shame.

He laid the bicycle in the road and came back. “You couldn’t have known.”

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t put the burden of her feelings on him. He was carrying too much already.

“You’ll make it,” she whispered. A command. A prayer.

His expression mirrored hers. “How do you know?”

“Because you have to.”

_I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t._

She didn’t say it out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_White Christmas_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9QLn7gM-hY), Bing Crosby (1942)  
> World's best-selling single with estimated physical sales in excess of 50 million copies.
> 
> [_You’ll Never Know_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZtWNlCTc6o), Vera Lynn (1943)  
> As Glenn Miller is the musical embodiment of WW2 to most Americans, so Vera Lynn is to Britons. She just died in June 2020, aged 103.
> 
> [Christmas with the GIs](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2513866/A-GI-Christmas-How-American-soldiers-bearing-gifts-extra-rations-proved-festive-hit-British-families-WWII.html)


	4. All those things you've always pined for

_London, January 1944_

Rain fell in sheets, a drenching, cheerless winter downpour. The pavement was impassable with long queues of people waiting on tardy buses, spaced out more than usual by the canopy of umbrellas overhead. Rey dashed across the street, dodging a taxi and nearly colliding with a drowned cyclist.

“You made it,” Ben called, in a tone that hinted he’d nearly given up hope. He was huddled in a doorway, collar turned up against the cold. His heavy jacket was sodden.

“The Tube was hopeless and you can see the state of the world up here. Sorry I’m late. Don’t you own a brolly?”

“Just another thing to carry and keep track of. It’s only a little water. Shall we?” He held the glass door open for her. The windows were fogged but the sign over the entry read _J. Lyons & Co. Ltd_. Inside the shop, the air was humid and vaguely sweet.

“I was surprised you wanted to meet here, given the famous American loathing of tea.”

“We don’t loathe tea. It’s just that after American coffee, tea is a little…underwhelming. Tastes like boiled water.”

“It _is_ boiled water.”

He widened his eyes in mock amazement. “It all makes sense now.”

She was still grinning when the waitress seated them at a corner table.

He shrugged out of the wet coat and draped it over the chairback. “Explain to me again how this works. Tea shops are off-ration, right?”

“Correct. You can buy what you want but they have limited selection. And there are restrictions as to number. I couldn’t buy out all their bread and take it home in a knapsack.” The waitress appeared again for their order, confirming that only Bath buns were available today, one per customer. They were able to get a small amount of apricot preserves for spreading.

“Next time we ought to go to a fish and chip shop. They’re not rationed either. The queues are long but the food is good and lots of it.”

He gave her a peculiar look, a hesitant kind of hopefulness. “Sounds like a plan. Should we have the argument about me paying now? To get it out of the way so we can enjoy our boiled water?”

“I’m perfectly capable of paying for a cup of tea.”

“I’m sure you are. But in America, when a man asks a woman to join him for food or drinks, it’s customary that he picks up the tab. You’d be honoring my culture by not fighting with me about it.”

“Incorrigible,” she teased. The waitress returned with a wooden trolley, spreading cups and tea pot, buns and jam across the tabletop. She also placed a little china dish on the side, giving Rey a wink as she left.

“What are those?”

“Sultanas,” she said, delighted. “You don’t have those in America?”

“I don’t know. What are they?”

“Dried green grapes. I’m not sure why they turn so light when they dry. We use them in cakes and breads, as a sweetener.”

“So they’re raisins?”

“Different sort of grape, same idea.”

He looked confused. “Why would the waitress just bring a dish of raisins to the table without us asking for it?”

She shrugged. “Restaurants and shops never know when they’re going to get various things. But they do know customers aren’t likely to turn them down, particularly a treat like this.” She popped a few into her mouth and scrunched her nose appreciatively.

“This war is giving me an entirely new perspective on life. I’ve never considered raisins a treat.” He chewed the tiny golden fruit thoughtfully. “Not bad.”

They drank their tea in companionable silence. It was pleasant to be cozy and still while the world rushed by outside. “How was Rainbow Corner today? Does your friend still hate me?”

“Rainbow Corner was fine. And Gwen doesn’t hate you. She’s just fretting. Doesn’t want me to get a bad reputation in the village.” She tapped his shoe playfully with her own, to let him know she was kidding.

“Does that happen?” he asked, more curious than concerned.

“Of course. There are all sorts of vicious names for girls who spend too much time with American soldiers.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Gold digger, spam basher, Yankee bag…you get the idea.”

He snorted. “Spam basher?”

“Someone who’s in it for the extra food,” she explained, taking a pointed bite of her bun.

“Have you ever volunteered on a Clubmobile?” He tentatively spread the bright orange preserves on his roll. “The Red Cross runs them. They’re these converted buses that just drive all over the country giving out free doughnuts and coffee. One came to camp on Saturday. The driver told us they distributed a million-and-a-half doughnuts _a month_ last year.”

“Good lord. Sweets, soda pop and doughnuts. It seems the American army’s secret weapon is sugar.”

“It got me thinking about what you said at Christmas, about how we have so much more than everyone here and we don’t even appreciate it. Then that made me think about my folks. My dad grew up in an orphanage. Both of them served in the Great War; that’s where they met. My parents don’t take anything for granted.” He stared into his cup. “They’d be on your side, is what I mean. They’d like you.”

“My grandmother certainly likes you. She can’t stop talking about your holiday visit. If you’re not careful, she’ll rope you into a regular book club.”

He chuckled. “My schedule isn’t really my own these days but I’d certainly enjoy that.”

She knew she shouldn’t ask but she couldn’t help herself. “How are your numbers?”

“Eleven,” he said without elaborating. Draining his cup, he added, “It should be twelve but—doesn’t matter.”

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing important. We had a mechanical issue mid-flight on Monday and had to turn back. Since we didn’t drop our payload, it doesn’t count toward our total. The guys call that a ‘milk run.’”

“Isn’t that…better? To not be in danger?”

“It just drags out the inevitable. Can’t cross the finish line if you aren’t moving.”

“What happens when you get to thirty?”

He grimaced. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about that. I’m not superstitious like some of the others. I don’t carry a lucky penny or go through the same bedtime routine before every takeoff. But even I feel like talking about that is tempting fate.”

“Forgive me,” she murmured.

“Nothing to forgive. I was just about to refill my tiny cup with this delectable boiled water. Would you like some more?”

“Yes, please.” She watched him pour, the thin ceramic looking comically small in his hands. “Before the war, we hardly ever came into London. But I remember my mother bringing me to a tea shop like this when I was little. I can picture the table at eye level, all the wonderful confections just out of reach. In my rage, I pulled on the cloth and nearly brought the pot down on my head.”

Ben twirled a teaspoon between his fingers, a nervous gesture. “Can I ask a personal question? You can tell me to mind my own business and I’ll never bring it up again.” At her nod, he continued, “You told me your father was never ‘in the picture.’ What does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he and my mother met just after the last war. He told her he loved her, spun her a web of dreams that turned out to be lies, and left as soon as she discovered I was on the way. She never saw him again. I’ve never met him.”

“But you and your grandmother have different last names.”

“Everyone in the village knew what happened. My mother insisted on registering his name on my birth certificate. It’s all I have of him. All I want, frankly.”

He hesitated. “And your mother? What happened to her?”

She dragged a pinkie through the smear of jam on her plate. No sense leaving anything behind. “We lived with my grandmother all my life. There wasn’t really any chance for Mum to marry, staying in a place where everyone knew about her checkered past. I was nineteen when the war broke out. Once the bombing started, we all joined the WVS. Back in the early days, most everything we did was related to that. We organized air raid shelters, enforced the black out, directed people to safety when the bombs fell. After the fires were extinguished, we helped clear rubble and staffed tables where people could search for the missing.”

Ben shifted his hand slightly, not quite touching, but close enough on the table that she was aware of it. She gave him a tiny smile. “She was killed helping a pregnant woman into a shelter. The wall of a building fell on them. I was the one who discovered her the next day.” Beneath the tablecloth, his knee found hers and pressed in sympathy. “That’s why I couldn’t join the ATS and be a pilot. I can’t leave Gran. I’m all she has left.” Heavy silence hung between them. “Now you can appreciate why Gwen is over-protective. And why I’m so careful about…avoiding entanglements. Or used to be, at any rate.”

The waitress came to ask if they needed anything more before settling the bill. Ben shook his head and produced a handful of notes and coins from his pocket. He looked fairly bewildered by the whole assortment. Rey snickered and leaned close, identifying each in turn and counting out the correct amount. She knew he wasn’t focused on the money.

“Pay attention or you’ll get swindled. What’s this one?” She unfolded a white, £5 note.

“Wallpaper,” he deadpanned. Flattened out, it was nearly the size of a writing sheet.

“Be serious. Is this a good tip?”

“Yes? I think?”

“I should say so. This is a professional week’s wages. Gwen’s aunt is a housekeeper for wealthy people in Brighton and she earns _one_ pound a week.” She refolded the note and held it out. “Put that somewhere safe. In case you decide to buy a yacht to go home to Indiana.”

He reached for the wad of paper, fingertips closing around hers. His skin was rougher than she expected. He held on longer than she expected, too. The sounds of the room fell away, leaving only his voice behind. “Why did you come over that night at the pub? After everything you’ve told me, why?”

They should have left by now. The weather was dismal. It was so late they were in danger of being caught outside after black out. They might miss the last train and then there’d be real hell to pay. But she didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay here, with a full belly and a warm hand holding hers forever.

“I wasn’t going to. But then I saw you in the mirror. You looked like I felt.”

“How was that?”

“Like the loneliest person in the world. And I just found myself wanting to come tell you…”

“Tell me what?” he begged, as urgently as if her message held the key to ending the war.

“That you’re not alone,” she whispered.

His fingers tightened, almost painful. “Neither are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_I Can’t Give You Anything But Love_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3twRg1t0PI8), Valaida Snow (1940)
> 
> [London in the Black Out](https://mashable.com/2014/10/13/to-hide-from-wwii-bombs-london-goes-dark/)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from the song [_I'll Get By_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WosbhGk-E_I), Billie Holiday (1944).


End file.
